


Here and there

by edenforest



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Mission Fic, Smut, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-08-30 13:18:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8534674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenforest/pseuds/edenforest
Summary: a collection of my tumblr gallya ficsThe Chicken Affair: Four mornings in a mission. And a chicken.The Marshmallow Affair: Illya calls Gaby something he shouldn't have and gets his ass kicked.The Blizzard Affair: Snowed in fluff. Part 1/2The Alone Affair: Snowed in smut. Part 2/2  (explicit)April drabblesMay drabblesJune drabblesJuly drabbles





	1. The Chicken Affair

**Author's Note:**

> If you follow my Tumblr you probably have already read these. So not really anything new here (sorry. But Something Borrowed is finally getting a new chapter in monday/tuesday. And the advent calendar is almost finished, so please don't hate me).  
> [Original here](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/149957079735/i-promised-a-chicken-fic-if-that-kgb-chicken-post)

Illya walked down the creaking stairs. He ducked just in time not to hit his head on the very low door frame out of the staircase. He stepped into the kitchen and there was a chicken sleeping in the bread basket in the middle of the big wooden dining table. He frowned, walked to the table and picked the chicken up. It woke, flapped its wings furiously, cackled loudly. Illya kept his hold, tucked it under his arm, opened the door to the yard, and threw the chicken out. He brushed a few feathers off his shirt and started making his coffee. **  
**

He had only sat down when a rattle on the corner alerted him. His gun was in the holster and his hand already grabbed it when the chicken toddle across the kitchen floor, hurtled in the air, landed on the table and hopped back in the bread basket.

Illya sighed, annoyed, put his gun back, threw the chicken out again and went to watch where it had come in. There was hole in the wall right next to the old cupboard. He pushed a heavy wooden chest in front of it.

He didn’t wonder anymore why the farmhouse was abandoned and free for them to use in their mission; it was falling apart. Everything creaked and rattled, there were holes on the walls and a chicken on the table. Again. Illya squinted at it. He couldn’t understand how it had managed to get in this time. He took his gun, sat down and aimed at the chicken. It fluffed its brown feathers in the bread basket. Illya’s eyes narrowed. It was useless to threaten a creature which didn’t know what a gun was. He put his gun away, crossed his arms on his chest and shook his head, annoyed. There were probably a dozen ways into the house if you were chicken sized; it was just easier to let it sit on the bread basket.

So he grabbed yesterday’s newspaper they had brought with them and sipped his coffee.

Gaby came into the kitchen. She was still wearing her pajamas. She had a cardigan on top of that and thick wool socks on her feet. Her hair was messy and she looked like she was cold. She stopped at the door and pointed at the table. “What is that?”

Illya glanced at her from behind his paper and then at the table. “Chicken.”

Gaby frowned and her shoulders slumped when she sighed. “Well, I know that. Why there is a chicken on the table?”

“It likes it there,” Illya said and returned to his paper.

“It’s not very hygienic,” Gaby said and looked the chicken unhappily. “Could you throw it out?”

“It won’t stay there,” Illya muttered.

“Illya, please,” Gaby asked. “Get rid of the chicken.”

He sighed, but stood up, grabbed the chicken and threw it out. “Better?” Illya asked and sat back down.

“Yes. Thank you,” Gaby said and poured herself coffee. She gasped when the chicken ran across the floor and, frantically flapping its wings, flew back in the bread basket. A few white and brown feathers slowly fell on the floor.

“I told you so,” Illya muttered and turned the page on his newspaper.

“How did it get back inside?” Gaby huffed.

“There are holes in the walls,” Illya said.

“Threw it out again,” Gaby told and pointed at the door like a tiny queen giving orders.

“It won’t stay out,” Illya sighed and looked at Gaby. “I have tried. You can try yourself if you want.”

“Fine,” Gaby said tightly and approached the table. She reached towards the chicken. It made a clucking noise and Gaby pulled her hands back.

Illya, who had been looking her under his brows, held his smile. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

“No,” Gaby said firmly and glared at Illya. She reached again towards the chicken and grabbed it clumsily. The chicken cackled, flapped its wings in panic, Gaby shrieked and let go of it. The chicken returned to the bread basket.

Illya pressed his lips tightly together and cleared his throat. “Was that the first time you touched a chicken?” he inquired and tried not to look too amused.

“I lived in the city,” Gaby explained annoyed. “I have always lived in the city. I was a ballerina and a mechanic and now an agent. There has never been any reason for me to go anywhere near chickens.” Napoleon stepped in and Gaby pointed at the chicken. “Could you please throw that chicken out?”

Napoleon went to the coffee pot and glanced the chicken over his shoulder. “I’m not going to touch that filthy animal,” he said. “Peril?”

“It won’t stay out,” Illya said.

“I hate that chicken,” Gaby announced, took her coffee and left the kitchen.

Napoleon looked after her and sat at the table. “Why there is a chicken on the table?” he asked and turned to face Illya.

“It is countryside,” Illya muttered absent-mindedly.

 

***

 

Illya stepped in the kitchen and stretched his back slightly. The beds in the rickety farmhouse were terrible. The chicken was sleeping in the bread basket as he started to make the coffee. Illya took the brown paper bag from the counter and cut a piece of bread. The chicken hopped out of the bread basket they couldn’t use for actual bread and took a few steps on the table. Illya glanced it quickly and turned back to look closer. He walked to the table and took an egg from the basket.

Gaby walked slowly in, poured herself cup of coffee and looked at what Illya was doing. “Didn’t we use the last eggs last night?” she asked. “Where did you get that?” she pointed at the egg frying in the pan.

Illya nodded towards the table, Gaby glanced there and her face first sank and then tightened and her eyes narrowed when the chicken was sitting in the bread basket. “Of course,” she muttered and went to sit in the chair furthest from the chicken. She watched Illya crush the eggshell in his palm and set the little pile on the table. “What are you doing?” she asked, frowning.

“The chicken needs the calcium,” Illya said. “For the shells.”

“How you know that?” Gaby wondered.

“I just know,” Illya said and went back to the stove.

Gaby sipped her coffee and glared at the chicken pecking at the pieces of eggshell. “There isn’t even a henhouse here,” Gaby pointed out annoyed. “There is no reason why there would be a chicken. It’s some weird wild chicken.”

Illya hummed and put the egg on top of his bread and went to the table to eat. He crumbled some bread crust for the chicken.

Gaby watched his doings. “Do you know why the chicken crossed the road?” she asked.

“Why?” Illya asked.

“To get inside the house to annoy me,” Gaby said between her teeth.

The corners of Illya’s mouth twitched when he glanced at Gaby under his brows.

 

***

 

Gaby yawned as she walked down the creaking stairs and stepped in the kitchen. She wrapped the cardigan tighter around her and shivered. It was cold in the mornings. She had slept wretchedly and was awake even before Illya. Gaby stopped on the floor and scowled at the chicken. It was sleeping and Gaby determinedly returned upstairs and to her room, grabbed her gun and went back to the kitchen. She aimed at the chicken, both hands on the gun, cocked it, and narrowed her eyes.

“What are doing?” Illya asken from the door.

Gaby turned to look at him. “Breakfast,” she said.

Illya shook his head. “Stop aiming at the chicken.”

“I’m going to eat it,” Gaby claimed.

“Are you going to prepare it too?” Illya wanted to know and lifted his eyebrows. “You can not even pick it up.” He went to the table, picked the chicken up, tucked it under his arm and Gaby was annoyed how still the chicken stayed. Illya took the egg from the bread basket. “Here. You can make breakfast from this. It is not going to fight back.”

Gaby glared Illya, lowered her gun. “I don’t want your egg,” she said and lifted her chin.

“Do you want coffee?” Illya asked and put the chicken back on the table. “I can make it. Do not shoot the chicken.”

Gaby looked Illya’s back, displeased, and then at the chicken standing in middle of the table. “Why you don’t mind that the chicken is on the table?” Gaby asked. “It’s not hygienic.”

“There are several holes in the wall that go straight outside,” Illya pointed out, preparing the coffee. “The chicken is least of your worries. You should be worried about the rats.”

“There’s rats?” Gaby asked her eyes wide.

“Probably,” Illya muttered.

“I’m going to go across the street to the marks and blow our cover so we have to leave,” Gaby announced.

“If you must,” Illya muttered.

Gaby shook her head “I don’t understand how you are so calm. If there was a chicken on the table of the HQ you would be annoyed.”

“We are in the countryside. I think the chicken is fitting,” Illya said. “Why it is annoying you so much?”

“Because it’s standing in the middle of the table,” Gaby said with a high pitched and annoyed voice, and pointed the chicken. “You keep feeding it. I have to make my own sandwich.”

Illya stopped what he was doing and looked at Gaby over his shoulder. “Are you… jealous… of the chicken?”

“No,” Gaby huffed like it was the stupidest thing to suggest. “I’m just saying that it can do things you wouldn’t let me do. You wouldn’t let me stand on the table.”

“You can stand on the table,” Illya assured her and continued making the coffee, “when you can lay eggs,” he muttered and smiled to himself. He could only imagine the glare he was getting from Gaby.

 

***

 

Napoleon barely dodged the bullet and shot back. His gun clicked empty. “We need to get out,” he shouted when the guns were blazing and it was hard to hear. He was tired. They all were, long day had turned into a long night and now it was dawn again.

“The kitchen door,” Illya, whose bullets had run out too, said and turned to Gaby. “Do you have ammo?”

Gaby gave him her gun and stepped behind him after giving her gun away.

Illya fired a few times. “We need to go before we are out of ammo.” He pulled the magazine out quickly and pushed it back in.

Napoleon glanced his tense expression. “How many?”

“Four,” Illya said and gritted his teeth. “There are five men.”

“The gas stove,” Gaby said and Illya and Napoleon both glanced at her and then at each other.

“Get ready to run,” Illya said and took a better grip on the gun.

“Behind the tractor,” Napoleon said.

“Ready?” Illya asked and glanced at Gaby, who nodded hastily. He fired towards the men and after the first shot stepped forward from behind the doorframe; he could aim better but was a better target too. Gaby and Napoleon ran behind him, along the narrow corridor towards the kitchen. Illya fired two more times, that was all he had to spare, and ran after them.

The chicken cackled and flapped its wings when they stormed in the kitchen and straight through the door so that it hit against the wall with a loud crash. They ran behind the old tractor in the middle of the yard, the air smelled of morning dew. Illya steadied the gun against the metal and aimed through the open kitchen door, not at the man running into the kitchen but the pipes of the gas stove. He fired and ducked just before the kitchen blew up and parts of wood and metal exploded through the yard and hit against the tractor. He huddled with Gaby where they squatted behind the rusty piece of junk metal and thick tires. They all stayed quiet when the noise stopped and listened for sounds of life.

“I think we got them,” Napoleon finally dared to suspect and sat better on the ground.

“We are out of ammo,” Illya reminded him and sat next to him. “So let’s hope so.”

Gaby took a deep breath and peeked over the big tire. “I can’t see anybody up, half of the house is gone” she said. Gaby shrieked loudly, startling Illya and Napoleon, when the chicken flew over her head, almost hitting her, and landed on the tractor tire. Its tail feathers were little charred but otherwise it looked unharmed. Gaby slumped back on the ground. “How is that chicken alive?” she asked totally amazed, frowning and out of breath from the fright. “Did you teach it some KGB survival skills?” she asked, turning to face Illya.

“It is a good chicken,” Illya praised.

“It’s very convenient to always have fresh eggs,” Napoleon muttered and examined his ripped cuff.

“I’m saying this only once,” Gaby said. “We are not keeping the chicken. It’s either me or it.”

“Well, it’s decided then,” Napoleon sighed and stood up. “We should leave before the place is full of people and we need to explain what we were doing here. And why the house is in flames. Peril, grab the chicken.”

Illya’s mouth twitched when he got up and reached his hand to Gaby and pulled her up while she scowled Napoleon. “We are not going to leave you behind,” he promised almost gently and let Gaby’s hand go. “And eventually you will learn to respect the chicken.”

Napoleon grinned.

“No,” Gaby moaned frustrated. “This isn’t funny. We are not keeping it. Illya, don’t pick it up. Put it down. Please, put the chicken down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta thanks to [MollokoPlus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MollokoPlus/pseuds/MollokoPlus)


	2. The Marshmallow Affair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Original here](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/151125772620/after-a-chat-with-gallyavanting-i-had-a-plot-and)

**_1964_  
**

 

Gaby walked in the room and Illya glanced at her. He had to turn to look again. She was wearing a little white dress and a fluffy white jacket. The white collar framed her face and hair, her cheeks were deliciously pink. She looked like she was lying in freshly fallen powder snow, making a snow angel. Her dark curls were scattered among the bright February snow, that always sparkled more brightly than any other snow. It looked like it was covered with diamonds. Gaby looked like she belonged in that snow, in some crispy day, with her frostbitten cheeks, snowflakes on her eyelashes. She reminded Illya of winter and all the things that were good and beautiful in Russia.

“I’m ready,” Gaby informed him. She lifted her arms off her sides. “How do I look?” She immediately glanced at Illya like he was the one she expected to speak.

But Illya couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t say that Gaby looked like a frosty day in February, when snow glistened like diamonds and the sun made it so bright that you had to close your eyes and still you could see the glow through your eyelids. He couldn’t say something like that to Gaby. And definitely not when Cowboy was in the room.

So Napoleon was the one who spoke. He only glanced at Gaby when she asked her question and grinned. “You,” he said, lifting his finger to point at her, “look like a marshmallow.”

Gaby’s arms flopped back against her sides. She huffed slightly and her brows furrowed. She wasn’t expecting high praise for the outfit. She was supposed to look girly and cute for the cover and neither Illya nor Napoleon really liked to dress her girly and cute, but she wasn’t expecting to be called a marshmallow. She glared at Napoleon and turned back to Illya.

“It is fine,” Illya said.

Gaby shook her head, disappointed, but at least he didn’t make some ridiculous comparison.

Illya would like to see Gaby in something more stylish, but as far as the cover went the outfit was perfect. She looked cute and easily approachable. And even when he still saw Gaby as somebody falling in fresh powder snow, he had to confess that Cowboy’s comparison was not that far fetched. She looked deliciously plump and sweet in her fluffy jacket that hung on her slender form. But knowing her, Illya couldn’t ever compare her to a marshmallow. She wasn’t soft and not always that sweet either. Sometimes maybe, but mostly she was opinions and quick thoughts and stubbornness. But that just made all the sweet moments even sweeter. Gaby wasn’t the creamy custard in crème brûlée, she was the crunchy, toasted sugar on top of it. Sweet with a bite to it. Gaby was dark chocolate.

“Are we going?” Gaby sighed and was a little bit fed up with her cover already.

 

***

 

The stupid name stuck. Not in everyday use, but occasionally. Usually when Gaby was already annoyed or when she had done something she was embarrassed about. Then Napoleon called her marshmallow. At those times the name just made it all that much worse. Her hands clenched into tight fists, her whole body tensed up. Gaby knew he did it to annoy her like he annoyed Illya. Illya, however, had learned to mostly ignore his attempts much like Solo had learned to ignore his attempts to annoy him. He merely glanced at Solo, slightly bored, maybe even lifted his brows as if to say he didn’t care what he said, but he was welcome to try if he truly felt like he could succeed at his attempts. But Gaby struggled with it. Her skin rose to goosebumps with every marshmallow. And somehow he always found the worst possible time to call her that.

“Can you drive faster, marshmallow?” he asked when the rear window shattered from a bullet and when her foot already was on the floor. The car went as fast as it possibly could. Gaby knew it, Napoleon knew it, everybody knew it. Her hands clenched the steering wheel, knuckles white. Illya glanced at her under his brows and grabbed the handle above the door in case it was needed when she was going to do something crazy with the car.

“Try not to cause any hassle, marshmallow,” he said, smiling, when Gaby left to make a simple exchange. She scowled at him across the room and yanked the door shut after her so that the paintings rattled on the wall.

When he didn’t use the name often she never got used to it and it made her skin crawl every time. And more than anything Gaby hated how it made her react. She didn’t care when Napoleon saw it, but Illya was also there to see it. He probably thought she was being ridiculous. And Gaby didn’t want to be ridiculous in his eyes. And still every marshmallow made her eyes narrow and her hands clench into a fists.

 

***

 

Gaby had slept wretchedly for many nights already. If she could even call that sleeping. In the morning she had got a ticket for speeding and then the shoulder strap of her handbag had got stuck between the car door and now there was black scratch on the tan leather. Napoleon shook his head and said she was the worst person to buy anything nice for. Some middle-aged pencil pusher who couldn’t last one day in the field had called her “girl” in the break room and asked her to make more coffee. Not even asked, ordered. The only reason Gaby didn’t crack the coffeepot against his head was because Illya practically carried her out. Now she was angry and annoyed, tried to go through the dossier in front of her. Napoleon left and that annoyed her even more. She didn’t know if he had an actual reason to go, but she just assumed he left Illya and her do all the work.

She huffed and Illya glanced at her under his brows. She was wearing a white suede dress; the soft matte surface looked like a marshmallow.

“Is this all we know about the mark?” Gaby asked tensely.

“Apparently,” Illya muttered and stopped looking at her.

“This is nothing,” Gaby claimed and stared at Illya. “They are sending us there blind.”

Illya’s gaze shifted back to her. “It is not the first time,” he reminded her. “It is fine.”

“I know,” Gaby said, even though she didn’t feel it. “But it would be better if we had some actual intel.”

“I did not do this,” Illya pointed out. “I am on your side.”

“I just -” Gaby snapped and closed her mouth quickly. She took a deep breath and continued slower and softer: “I just don’t understand how they expect us to succeed on anything when we have nothing to work with.”

Illya shrugged. “It’ll be fine. I promise. Do not worry, marshmallow.”

Gaby’s jaw tightened and eyes narrowed when the name escaped from Illya’s lips so easily, like he had waited to say it for a long time. And he had chosen his moment so very poorly. The dossier fell from Gaby’s hand, slipped over the edge of the table and all the papers scattered around. Illya frowned and turned to watch when the sheet flew on the floor. Her chair tipped over with a sharp clank when she rapidly got up. She lifted her knee on the edge ot the table, then the other leg and jolted herself towards Illya like a sprinter. The dossier dropped from his hand just before Gaby attacked him like in Rome.

But unlike in Rome, there was no couch behind him to fall over, nor soft rug to roll on. They crashed onto the hard floor with the impact of her attack tipping them over. Illya managed to tilt himself up before the chair hit the floor, but there was still Gaby’s bodyweight on top of him and it knocked the air from his lungs momentarily. He pushed Gaby clear of him and she used his push to get herself back on her feet quicker than Illya did.

Mostly Gaby’s attack was just for show; he could defend himself against her and she wanted just to make some noise when she was angry. But the small part inside of her, fearing that she really was like a marshmallow, wanted to prove she wasn’t. And everybody would believe that when she crushed 6’ 5" of Russian muscle under her heel.

Gaby didn’t let Illya get up, she crashed against him again, threw them over the chair on their feet. Illya managed to twist himself enough that Gaby didn’t hit properly, but she grabbed him and when he was already off balance, yanked him with her towards the floor. And even when Gaby was the one attacking Illya, he made the choice to wrap his arm around her and pull her against him so that she wasn’t crashing on the floor under him. The chair in his feet slid against the floor, he lost his grip at the floor and his body slumped on the floor without a control.

Illya’s head hit the floor so hard it felt like it was cracking in two. Sharp pain radiated everywhere, blurred his vision.

Gaby took a sharp inhale when she saw immediately from his eyes that he had hurt himself. His hand on her thigh relaxed and dropped off. “Illya?” Gaby asked carefully and her brows furrowed from worry.

He tried to get himself up and answer her. But apart from a feeble attempt he couldn’t do either.

“Illya,” Gaby said sharply and took hold of his chin and shook it slightly. He couldn’t focus his gaze on her and his eyes slowly closed. “Illya,” Gaby sighed one more time before his head flopped on its side when he lost consciousness. Gaby pushed herself up from on top of him and rushed to get help.

 

***

 

Illya opened his eyes slowly, blinked a few times. The light felt too bright and he squinted, let his lashes soften it. Carefully he moved his tongue in his dry mouth. He blinked again, in order to get his eyes working; everything was blurry. His head felt heavy. Another few blinks and his eyes focused and he could see the ceiling. Carefully he tilted his head and glanced around the room. HQ’s infirmary, he recognized that. He tried to lift his arm so he could push himself up to sit but it only twitched and his body didn’t do what he wanted. Everything felt heavy, like he was made of lead. He was startled when Gaby suddenly moved close to him from somewhere.

“You’re awake,” she breathed out and sounded relieved. She sat on the edge of his bed, leaned a little closer and set her hand carefully on his shoulder.

Illya hummed. Yes, he was.

“I was worried,” Gaby confessed and looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

Illya shook his head. Sharp pain cut through his head and made his face twitch. He couldn’t hide it from Gaby even when he tried.

“Does your head hurt?” she asked, her fingers moving to touch his cheek.

“Little,” Illya admitted. The word came out thick and raspy and he cleared his throat. “How long I have been here?”

“Thirty-four minutes,” Gaby told.

“Very exact,” Illya muttered.

“You were unconscious. I worried,” Gady explained and felt herself silly. “They say you probably have a concussion. Now when you’re conscious you can’t sleep.”

Illya hummed again because it was easier than talking. Gaby’s hand on his cheek felt nice. He hoped she would keep it there.

Gaby looked him for awhile. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. Not really,” she said quietly. “It was an accident.”

“I know,” Illya assured her. He moved his hands; clenched his long fingers into fists and opened again, rolled his ankles, gave his body some orders and took it back to his command.

“I should’ve done that,” Gaby said and her hand slipped away from his cheek. Gaby’s face tensed up. “I was having a bad day and that name makes me angry. I know Solo uses it deliberately to annoy me. But then you said it and it sounded like you didn’t even notice that. It sounded… natural.”

“It was an accident,” Illya had to confess. “But I di -”

“I don’t want to be a marshmallow,” Gaby interrupted him and looked him her brows frowned and mouth pressed in a tight line. “Is that what I am? Even to you? Somebody soft and fluffy and…” she shrugged, “helpless?”

“No,” Illya said. His hand moved slowly on his side, against Gaby. His fingers touched  the suede of her dress, felt the curve of her hip under it. “It was stupid name. It slipped out. I did not mean it like that.”

Gaby hummed understandingly but looked disappointed.

“You are…” Illya sighed and paused to think of what he was going to say. Everything was still hazy. “You are dark chocolate,” he said softly.

Gaby glanced at him quickly and she had a suspicious expression on her face. “What?” she breathed out nonplussed.

“Not bitter, but strong and sweet,” Illya said. “The kind you only need one bite and everything is already much better.”

Gaby had to look away from him, her cheeks suddenly burning. The words sounded so sincere and soft that she didn’t know how to be anymore. His blue gaze stayed on her even when Gaby herself couldn’t look back. It’s not like anybody hadn’t flattered her before, but this felt different. It was Illya and she hadn’t expected him to say anything like that and it knocked her off balance.

“The kind you crave in dark winter nights,” Illya muttered. He looked at Gaby’s brown eyes; not as brown as the chocolate but impossibly beautiful. Her hair that framed her pink cheeks. Lips that were parted like she was waiting to be kissed. She looked soft and a little confused and good enough to eat. His fingers let go of the suede of her dress and stroked her side, back of his fingers brushing against her. She was warm under her dress. Talking to her was easier than usual. It was so effortless to say all the things he felt out loud to her, alone in the infirmary. He suspected it was probably the concussion. “Dark like your hair and sweet like your lips.”

Gaby made an little uneasy huff when she didn’t know how to react to Illya’s endearments. “You don’t know if my lips are sweet,” she muttered and felt awkward and stiff, and it didn’t help that he seemed so comfortable about the things he said. And he kept looking at her, so softly, fingers brushing against her side, making her body tingle.

“Sure they are,” Illya hummed and little smile curled his lips. “Melt against a kiss like cho-”

Gaby leaned in to kiss him and his sentence never got finished. She took a sharp trembling breath when she realized what she had done, but didn’t stop. Instead her hand slipped to his neck like she was holding on to him so she wouldn’t hesitate. Illya hummed quietly against her lips, sounded pleased. She feared that she would actually melt against his kiss. She felt solid now but wasn’t sure would that last if he did one more nice thing.

His palm set on the small of her back, pulled her closer. His lips opened under her kiss, his head tilted slightly and Gaby’s tongue licked against his. She wondered would their kiss have been like this in Rome, months ago. Or was it this warm and tasty only because it had taken some time to get there. Illya’s other hand slipped on her neck. His fingers were cool but it felt good against her warm skin. Gaby was sure she was blushing all over. If she were chocolate, she would have already melted on top of him, in a sweet sticky mess. Maybe she was going to do that anyway.

Gaby’s kiss was exactly as warm and intense as Illya had dreamed. His heart pounded, fingers submerged on her dark locks, pulled her closer from the back of her head; pulled into a another kiss. Open mouths tasted each other, tongues touched softly, licked gently, then rubbed together deliciously. Gaby made a quick twitch against him and sharp pain cut his head. He twitched and grunted quietly, frowned when he couldn’t hide it. Gaby pulled away from him.

“Are you okay?” she gasped and was out of breath like after a long dive.

Illya murmured slightly, deep from his throat, signaled her that it was fine and it didn’t matter and pulled her back against him, into a new kiss, hot and thick. Gaby moved better on top of him, slowly so she didn’t hurt him. Her knee leaned on the mattress and her body set against his. Illya’s hand slid along her back, traced slowly her spine. His elbow set on the crook of her waist and his fingers touched her shoulder blade through her dress.

Gaby let the kiss slow down before pulling away from him. Illya opened his eyes and looked at her. Gaby’s chest rested against his chest, her hand moved on his cheek, fingertips brushed his stubble and reached to his earlobe. Illya’s lips twitched and a little nervous burst of laughter came out of Gaby when she slowly realized what had happened. She bit her lower lip.

“Did they melt?” Gaby asked quietly, practically whispered, sounding shy and unsure, afraid that Illya would say something that would make her melt all over again.

Illya hummed, his fingers touched the curl of hair hanging in front of her ear. His other hand was still resting on her back; palm warming between her shoulderblades. The corners of his mouth curled up and he couldn’t hide his soft smile. Not that he really wanted the hide it. Illya couldn’t think of any reason he should try to hide it from Gaby. She was making it happen so she deserved to see it. Her chest heaved against him when she breathed. Her eyes kept glancing over him, here and there, never really stopping in one place; like she was too nervous to look too long in any place.

“Yes,” Illya assured her.

Gaby’s lips curled into a smile too; she lowered her gaze and looked somewhere in his chin. She couldn’t look at him any higher or she would blush again. Gaby cleared her throat and gathered herself. She dragged her eyes bravely on to his. “I’m not sure are you really in good enough condition to be kissing,” she claimed. “I don’t want to affect your recovery.”

“It is a concussion,” Illya pointed out. “I am not dying.”

Gaby moved to sit on the bed sideways, her legs hanging over Illya’s thigh. He set his hand on top of them so she didn’t move any further. “I am not that sure,” Gaby said. “You don’t sound like yourself. I think you may have hit your head more severely. I should call the doctor.”

Illya shook his head slightly and was still feeling her kiss on his lips.

Gaby pursed her lips and rolled her other ankle. Her insides were all mixed up. She couldn’t let Illya say anything nice anymore. And she definitely couldn’t let him keep kissing her. After that she would have to take her clothes off. And Illya’s too and she wasn’t sure was he really up for that right now. And it’s not like she could have sex with him in the HQ’s infirmary. Somebody would probably come in and explaining that would be an awkward mess. “Do you want something from the vending machine?” she asked, to get something else to think about. “Something to eat?”

Illya didn’t say anything. He merely looked at her, his little smile on his lips, licked his bottom lip wet.

Gaby shook her head and tried to hold her smile. Illya’s fingers wrapped around her wrist and pulled her slowly towards him. Gaby could stop him, she could say she didn’t want to. But that would be a lie. She allowed him to pull her back to him, only made a little protesting sound neither one of them could take seriously. She rolled next to Illya, his arm cuddling her underneath. The other lifted her chin up, lips touched hers.

“Someone might come in,” Gaby muttered, lips brushing Illya’s lips like she was still protesting but then reached to kiss him.

“You can say you were giving me mouth-to-mouth,” Illya muttered back. “I am very sick.”

Gaby chucked and didn’t pull away when Illya kissed her again. She opened her mouth for him, slid closer, slipped her hand on his shoulder and melted against him.

 

**_1970_ **

 

Illya turned the page from his newspaper. He glanced quickly up to Gaby who paced on the carpet. The doorbell rang and he closed his paper.

“I can go,” Gaby said. Her hands slipped under the little arms and she held the baby in front of Illya until he took hold of her.

Illya let his hand slide up, under Galina’s arms, held the little rib cage in his hands. She leaned back, against his fingers. In her white little fluffy shirt she felt plump and soft. She couldn’t stand on her own yet, but when Illya held her up she stood on his knee with her tiny feet. She looked soft like freshly fallen powder snow, cute and sweet. Tiny, chubby cheeked spitfire who made Illya smile.

“You look like a marshmallow,” he said to her.

Galina blew air from her nose, almost huffed, looked little displeased like she understood that somebody was comparing her to a soft, plump candy. Illya was sure she would like to been compared to something else.

“Just like your mother,” he muttered and the baby huffed again and wrinkled her tiny nose.


	3. The Blizzard Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snowed in fluff. There is smut sequel coming for this one. So part 1/2. Original tumblr post and tiny edit [here](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/157696797104/i-wrote-a-little-25k-snowed-in-fic-because-of%22)

There would be no extraction, Waverly informed them. Not right now at least. The blizzard was too strong and there was no emergency. They had a roof over their heads and canned food in the cabinets, even a fire in the fireplace. The windows were rattling as the storm shook the cabin but it was better than nothing.

The blizzard began as they left Bucharest. The snow was falling nearly horizontal in the heavy wind. The road were reasonably clear when they turned towards the cabin. But two hours later, after they had extracted the needed information from the computer behind the false wall in the cellar, the storm had built snow walls around the gate and fence surrounding the cabin and nearly covered the car. Even if they shoveled the snow away there was fresh snow falling constantly and the narrow roads ahead would be undrivable. They were snowed in.

It took time before the cabin warmed enough that Gaby was ready to take off the padded snowsuit that made her clumsy and stiff. But she had chosen the clumsiness over shivering.

Illya twisted his torso, trying to stretch his back that had been feeling slightly uncomfortable for days and wasn’t getting any better.

Both avoided eye contact.

 

***

 

Gaby cleared her throat and pushed the plate and scraps of her mostly disappointing meal away. “We are probably going to be here until tomorrow. Worst-case scenario, a few days,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. “That is many hours.”

“Yes,” Illya said and shrugged slightly. “I know.”

“That is hours of you trying to twist and stretch your back ahead,” Gaby sighed and Illya frowned. “Hours of me asking what is wrong with your back and you claiming there is nothing wrong with you.”

“There is nothing wrong with me,” Illya said with an almost smug expression on his face.

“Of course not,” Gaby said and shook her head at his stubbornness. She glanced around the tiny cabin and pointed at the bed against one of the walls. “Do you think there will be nothing wrong with you tomorrow either, after you have slept on that lumpy mattress?”

Illya glanced at the bed and turned back to glance at Gaby. “I’ll be fine.”

“Fine,” Gaby said and let Illya twist his back in peace. It wasn’t her business if he wanted to be uncomfortable.

 

***

 

Outside the blue twilight turned into pitch black. The storm kept rattling the windows. Inside Gaby kept adding wood into the fireplace. Finally her decision not to care cracked when Illya frowned and slightly twisted himself for the sixth time in the past twenty minutes.

“Illya,” she sighed frustrated. “Could you just let me help? Either that or you need to stay outside in the blizzard because I don’t want to look at that anymore.”

“It feels like something is out of place,” Illya admitted unwillingly. “But there is nothing you can do about it. Unless you are going to stand on my back.”

“Would that help?” Gaby asked, interested.

Illya shrugged.

“Fine.” Gaby got up from her chair and stared at Illya, waiting for him to move. When he continued to sit and merely looked back at her she sighed and gestured towards the bed. “I can’t do it if you keep sitting there,” she huffed. “Move.”

Carefully Illya got up. This was the first time they were actually looking at each other instead of only quickly glancing since the previous night, before things had taken a turn in a very different direction than normally. After that they had only talked when necessary and avoided eye contact. But now Gaby was pointing to the bed, her other hand determinedly on her hip. Illya tugged his shirt and lifted his brows as a question. Gaby made a tiny gesture, something between a nod and a shrug. Illya took that as a  _ yes  _ and pulled his shirt over his head, dropped it on the edge of the bed, before climbing in.

The springs squeaked when he settled down, his stomach against the mattress that was as lumpy as Gaby had suspected. It was still better than some places he had slept. Illya bent his arms and tucked his hands under his chin.

“I’m not going to actually stand on top of you,” Gaby noted when she climbed on the bed on her knees, lifting one over him. “I would just fell down,” she muttered. Her hands were cool and Illya’s back felt so warm against them when she took a hold on his sides and settled down. She let her hands slide up his back and took full advantage of the excuse to touch him. Illya turned his head and rested the side of his face against the mattress.

Gaby started with his shoulders. “Is this fine?”

“It is nice,” Illya said. “But not really helpful. You can use more force.”

Gaby pressed more weight onto her arms, kneaded his shoulders. She leaned in and Illya grunted quietly. “Too much?”

“No,” Illya muttered. “Harder. Between the shoulder blades.”

Gaby leaned her weight onto her arms again and made him let out another deep grunt. Illya’s sounds didn’t sound like she was hurting him. He sounded like he liked it. She slid her hands along his back without caring anymore if she was being too rough. “I’m interested to know how long has it been since the last time.”

“What last time?” Illya wondered.

“Last time somebody touched you like this,” Gaby clarified.

“Massaged me?” Illya asked.

Gaby pursed her lips and listened to his grunt when she leaned her weight onto her arms again. “Touched intimately. Well, this isn’t that intimate, but still,” she explained. “When was the last time somebody's hands were against your naked skin? And don’t try any stupid examples. We are grown-ups. I don’t want examples of when your knuckles were against somebody’s jaw.”

Illya hummed and Gaby was sure his lips twitched slightly. “That,” he sighed lazily, “is not your business.”

“Don’t be boring,” Gaby said softly. She clenched her hands into fists and leaned her weight into her knuckles between his shoulder blades. His grunt came out from somewhere deep. “Let’s hear it then,” Gaby insisted. “When?”

Illya huffed quietly.

“Fine,” Gaby sighed. “If you want to do this the hard way, we can do that,” she said. “This year?”

“Not your business,” Illya mumbled.

Gaby hummed. “That sounds like a  _ no _ to me,” she noted, her lips curled into a smile. “Last year?”

Illya only huffed quietly and then sighed when Gaby’s palms massaged his shoulder blades. She leaned her weight onto her arms and onto him. Her thighs tensed up next to his hips before she settled back to sit on his buttocks.

“In the sixties?” Gaby pressed.

“This is my private matter,” Illya muttered.

Gaby grinned. She set her hands on top of each other, her fingers entwined together and curled under her palm. She leaned forward, tensed up her thighs and settled her weight into her arms and between Illya’s shoulder blades. She used her whole body as a weight and made a sharp push.

Illya grunted, pressed his mouth into a tight line so that he could suppress at least some of the noise. Whatever had been feeling uncomfortably out of place in his back clicked back like a puzzle piece. “There,” he managed.

Gaby could feel him relaxing under her. She settled back to sit and continued massaging his back. “Never?”

“Quite a leap from the sixties to never,” Illya pointed out, slightly annoyed.

“Well, is it never?” Gaby asked.

Illya opened his eyes and twisted his head enough to glance at her quickly. “Do you assume it is never?” he wanted to know.

Gaby hummed when she considered. Illya’s skin was distracting her. It was nice to be so close. “No,” she finally decided. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe you have anywhere near as many notches in your bedpost as Solo has, but I'm sure there are a few.” Her lips curled into a smile again. “I think his bed isn’t even staying in one piece from all the notches he has.”

“Do not say that to him,” Illya murmured. “He would love that.”

“Just tell me,“ Gaby pleaded. “I won’t give up.”

Illya made a displeased grunt and started to turn around. Gaby didn’t get off of him, she only lifted herself to her knees so that Illya could roll over slowly onto his back. Carefully she settled back down, straddling him and knowing she was probably making him self-conscious by sitting on top of his hips.

“'62,” Illya sighed eventually. “January, I think. Are you happy now?” He looked displeased that he had confessed.

Gaby’s lips twitched but she stopped herself from smiling. “So not that recently,” she sighed, sounding bored even when she had been insisting that he tell her. She got up, and rolled to lie next to him

Illya turned his face towards her. “Your turn,” he said. “It is only fair.” Gaby pursed her lips and for a moment Illya was sure she wasn’t going to tell.

“Four months before Rome,” Gaby decided to share. “That is when we broke up.”

“Why?” Illya asked even though he didn’t want to know and was immediately annoyed. Mostly to himself for feeling jealous that there was another man in Gaby’s past. Of course there would be and it shouldn't have bothered him. And yet it did.

“He proposed,” Gaby explained. “Way too soon. And then got mad when I didn’t want to marry him. Called me a whore and left slamming the door.”

Illya frowned. Just when he had thought that he didn’t even want to think about Gaby with some other man he wanted to meet him. He could break his jaw and feel better. And Gaby would probably feel better too.

Gaby’s lips curled slightly up. “I slashed his tires,” she confessed.

“Of course you did,” Illya said softly. His mouth twitched and he had to hold back the “that’s my girl” he wanted to say. Of course Gaby wouldn’t need help. His hands moved and that he didn’t try to stop. Coarse fingertips brushed her hair, swiped away the lock that was nearly covering her eye back to its place.

Gaby didn’t want to say anything in case he stopped.

Finally Illya pulled his hand away. “Should we talk about it?” he asked and the words came out coarse and unwilling because talking about it might move things in a different direction than he wanted them to move.

Gaby took a deep breath. She coulde pretend that she didn't understand what he was saying. But they both knew it was because of the previous night, when they had still been in Bucharest. “We kissed,” Gaby said. “We had to. It was for the cover.”

Illya nodded, so slightly he wasn't sure if Gaby even noticed it. He looked at her face but lowered his gaze away from her eyes. “We did not have to kiss that long,” he pointed out. “Or continue in the hotel room.”

Gaby hummed. “No, we didn’t.” It had been frantic and intense, and too good to stop once they started.

“You were going to say something,” Illya reminded. “Just before Cowboy knocked on the door and said the mark had fled and we needed to change the plan.” He turned slowly onto his side and wanted to reach his hand to touch her again. “What were you going to say?”

“I don’t remember,” Gaby said.

“Were you going to say it was stupid what we were doing?” Illya asked and tried to sound like it didn’t matter what she was going to say.

Gaby hummed and chewed her bottom lip. “No,” she confessed. “It was probably something sappy and embarrassing.”

Sappy and embarrassing didn’t sound too bad to Illya. His hand moved, fingers touched her shirt. Not Gaby, only her shirt. He took a careful hold on the fabric and rubbed it between his fingers.

He had imagined that if he ever kissed Gaby things would be so much easier after that, everything would happen naturally. Now they had kissed, and still nothing was solved. Illya felt like he was standing on a thin ice. One wrong step and the ice would crack. But he couldn't stay still either. He needed to move.

His fingers lost their hold of her shirt when Gaby moved and got up. Illya looked disappointed when she went to add more wood to the fire. She stood still in front of it, bright flames behind her slender silhouette.

Gaby turned around and moved and Illya could see her features again. “Do you know what is missing from this cabin?” she asked.

Illya rolled onto his back. “Alcohol?” he guessed.

“Yes,” Gaby sighed and missed the drink cabinet in the hotel in Bucharest. “But not what I meant.”

Illya hummed and looked at Gaby’s pacing on the floor. “Record player?”

“That too,” Gaby nodded. “But still not the thing I’m talking about.”

“Tell me,” Illya asked. It could be anything and he would maybe have to guess all night.

Gaby returned to the bed, climbed back next to Illya. She leaned closer, secured herself with her arm and hovered almost above him. “There are no interruptions,” she said and shrugged her shoulders like it was just a side note she made and not really that important. She straightened her back and pointed to the windows and the blizzard outside. “There is no one there. There is no one besides us inside,” Gaby carried on and glanced at Illya. “How often has that happened?”

Illya moved his hand and reached to Gaby. This time he did touch her and not only her shirt. His palm smoothed its way around her waist and pulled Gaby gently closer. The ice was much firmer under him now. He wasn’t going to let the moment slip from his fingers.

“I don’t think it has ever happened,” Gaby suspected and settled down next to Illya.

He turned on his side, hand smoothing her back and hip. His fingers stopped on the small of her back and curled slightly under her shirt. Gaby’s hand moved and her fingers touched his chin. They traced his jawline and brushed his neck, burned on his skin like her fingers were on fire.

“It’s weird to be together without a chance for interruption,” she said and sighed like it was some sort of problem. “I don’t even know how to start,” she claimed.

“Well,” Illya muttered and his fingers moved to tug her shirt. “I do not have a shirt. Equal thing would be to take yours off.”

“I wouldn’t want you to feel unequal,” Gaby said softly and rose to lean on her elbow. Illya’s hands slipped under her shirt and her skin rose to goosebumps. He pulled Gaby’s shirt over her head and let it drop on the floor. Kissing him was easy.

The mattress was maybe lumpy and the storm shook the cabin, but they were uninterrupted.


	4. The Alone Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A smut sequel for the previous chapter/story. Sunday smut. Original [here](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/158027897148/a-sequel-for-the-snow-affair-35k-its-rated).  
> Also, usually I don't write smut just for the sake of writing smut. This was the first fic that has like no plot. So if it sucked and you would like me to immediately stop, then do let me know.

Illya’s hand caressed Gaby’s breast, his touch making her whine quietly and tremble all over. His thumb brushed over her hard nipple, playing with it. His mouth palpated her neck that she bent back out of pleasure.

Wood cracked in the fireplace and the flames illuminated the small cabin with an orange glow. Illya’s hand smoothed Gaby’s side and he watched the light playing on her skin. He didn’t mind anymore that they had been interrupted at the hotel. He couldn’t imagine anything would be more beautiful than the flames on Gaby’s skin, and in the nice hotel he wouldn’t have seen it.

Impatiently Illya helped Gaby out of her trousers and hummed pleased when her quick fingers grabbed his belt buckle to open it. It was impossible to play cool when Gaby pushed him against the bed and her hand that had guided his thigh suddenly shifted, curved under the erection he couldn’t hide in his underwear.

Her kisses were slower than at the hotel. Her tongue licked against his, sweet and warm, and Illya swallowed against their kiss. She was wonderfully impatient, broke herself from the kiss and pushed down Illya’s briefs. He rolled onto his hip to help and tried to keep kissing her, which made them slow and clumsy.

The springs in the bed squeaked when Illya pinned Gaby against the lumpy mattress. He ducked down to kiss her small breast, used his tongue and gently his teeth and kept listening to her satisfied sounds. Her fingers tangled into his hair.

Gaby’s body arced under Illya’s touch. His tongue drew circles around her nipple and her fingers clenched into his hair so that it almost hurt.

Illya straightened himself up, knees on the mattress, thighs spread so he could be as close to her as possible. Gaby rose to lean on her elbows. Her tiny grin and dimples on her cheeks told exactly what she thought about the position in which Illya couldn't hide anything from her. Least of all his excitement, when Gaby stared unapologetically straight between his legs, bit her bottom lip and glanced up to him.

He didn’t even care. There was no reason to hide anything when that was what Gaby wanted from him and she looked nothing but pleased with the situation. Illya grabbed her hips and yanked Gaby closer. Her elbows gave way and her arms flopped against the bed, arching over her head. Her legs rose over his thighs, open like his. Illya reached in and curled his fingers under her underpants.

Gaby helped, lifted her hips off the mattress, bent her other leg out of the pants, set it back to hang over Illya’s thigh, feet gently brushing his hip. She lifted her other leg and Illya took hold of her ankle. He straightened her leg and pulled the underwear up. The powder blue piece dropped on the floor, Gaby smiled when Illya kissed her feet, right under the ankle bone.

His stubble brushed against her feet, tickling her. He guided her feet to his shoulders and slowly caressed his way down, over her calf and the back of her thigh, smoothed her tightened muscles. Limber fingers stroked the inside of her thigh and Gaby bit her bottom lip.

His fingers slipped between her legs, brushed against her pink flesh. Illya kept staring at Gaby’s face. She blushed under his adamant gaze, held her breath when his fingers traced her slowly up, massaging her gently. He made her exhale tremble and her eyes partly close. Illya’s gaze dropped from her face to his own fingers touching her.

Gaby cheeks burned when she looked at Illya. He had opened her up without any cover and left her exposed. Now she was turned on, and afraid that she would lose her self-control under his touch.

Illya’s fingers slipped slightly inside her, almost as if accidentally. Gaby’s bottom lip reddened when she kept biting it. Her breath was laboured, nostrils flared with every exhale.

She was sure that the corners of Illya’s mouth twitched when he quickly glanced at her face. There were smugness and pride in his expression. And as much as Gaby wanted to act cool, she also wanted to give that smugness and pride to Illya. She wanted him to feel like that every time he touched her.

She wondered if Illya had been like this with every other woman he had laid. The thought that somebody else had been enjoying his touch like Gaby was enjoying it now just made her want him more. She wanted to prove that whatever there had been before, she would be the best for him. She would make sure he would always feel good.

Her ankle slipped from Illya’s shoulder. He guided it over his own tensed up thigh, leaned forward and both her feet separated from the mattress and brushed against the back of his thighs. Illya secured himself with his arms, hovered over Gaby. He leaned close enough for his erection to rub against her. She breathed out like that alone made her out of breath.

Lust rushed in her veins, hot and wild. The anticipation of his first thrust made her insides tingle. When Illya ducked still farther down, Gaby’s legs wrapped over the small of his back.

She started to move her hand, but Illya stopped her, pinned it back against the bed almost carefully. Gaby hummed. When Illya clearly wanted her to stay how she was, she did, allowed him to tease her. His kiss merely brushed against Gaby’s ready lips. When she leaned in he moved his head back and Gaby couldn't reach even when she craned her neck closer. She flopped back to the mattress, made an annoyed huff.

“Tease,” she muttered even when she liked everything Illya did. She enjoyed his easy playfulness, his smugness when she didn’t even try to cover her eagerness. She was practically squirming under him, wanting more.

“Impatient,” Illya hummed. His mouth twitched and one brow rose enough that Gaby would count it as a smirk.

His fingers eased around her wrist and moved down, swiped over her shoulder and onto her breast and farther down. He had been waiting to see her in his bed for months and now there was so much to touch that he couldn't decide what he wanted most.

Gaby tried to hold her whines when Illya caressed her. But she frowned desperately and she couldn't hide that even when she could control her voice.

Illya moved his hips, rubbed Gaby with his erection. She bucked her hips up higher to get more. Her warm flesh sliding against the tip of his cock made Illya let out a low, satisfied grumble.

Illya kept teasing her and Gaby’s head dropped back. She panted and let out saturated whines as her whole body trembled under him. His fingers pinched her pink nipple and her breathing broke down into gasps and silent whimpers.

She lifted her head and her desperate gaze searched Illya’s eyes that were already locked on her. Her hands moved when she couldn't hold back any longer. She grabbed the back of his neck. Her other hand slipped into his hair when she pulled him close to the kiss he had denied her earlier.

Now his tongue licked against hers when she pulled him into a deep, wet kiss. Everything was spinning behind Gaby’s closed eyes and she grabbed Illya like she was going to fall.

Gaby’s skin was dewy from lust. The hand caressing her slipped under her back. Gaby’s back arched and Illya murmured quietly against her passionate kiss when his erection rubbed deliciously against the slickness between her open thighs. His heart was pounding its way out of his chest and shivers rushed down his spine.

Unexpectedly her hand wrapped under his arm, took hold of his shoulder and yanked him toward her. Illya’s elbow gave in under the quick jerk and only his other hand kept him from collapsing on top of her. Illya could’ve kept himself up, but allowed Gaby and gravity to pull him in.

Pressing himself against Gaby’s warm, naked skin made all the plans he had about how to continue disappear. Everything was throbbing and he could barely remember his own name.

Illya grabbed Gaby’s hip, fingers burrowing into her skin. He pushed himself down, pulled her in and thrusted inside her without holding back, with one long push that made her back arc and muscles tense.

Gaby cried out when she got what she wanted. She squeezed her eyes shut when her head bent back. Her inhale trembled and her hands stopped gripping. Illya’s thrust flipped her stomach over and made all her body hair stand up. For a moment her body seemed to freeze still, waiting for his next thrust that would turn her moving again.

Illya took a sharp breath of air through his nose and pushed in again. Gaby’s head craned back forward, her face snuggled the crook of his ducked neck. Illya could feel her fast and warm breath on his already damp skin.

He had made two thrusts and felt already like he was going to lose the self-control he barely held on. He feared he would just let go, take her like he pleased and ended up hurting her.

Breath panting he thrust back inside her. Gaby clenched onto his neck. His every thrust into her hot slickness left him less and less in charge of himself. Gaby’s moans didn’t help a bit. Their panting mouths found each other and locked together in a frantic kiss. Gaby’s short nails clawed his skin.

The springs of the bed squeaked under their movements. Touching Gaby was easier than Illya had imagined. She was so eager, firm and tight, and her intense kisses burned on his lips.

Illya’s head tilted up when Gaby’s wet kisses traveled down to his throat. She bit him gently and made shivers run down his neck. He swallowed thickly and momentarily stopped moving to enjoy when she sucked his neck. She was probably leaving marks and it didn’t really bother him. Gaby could mark him all over if she wanted to.

He pulled away and tilted his head back down to capture her lips again. Illya pushed himself in and his lips muffled Gaby’s moans. Her fingers clenched his sweaty sides and her hips bucked up like she was making sure he was going as deep as he physically could.

Gaby couldn't do much more to take everything in. Panting dried her throat. Illya’s every thrust made her tremble. Her thighs felt like jelly and her fingers couldn't yield enough power to grip properly.

This was what she had been picturing the lonely hours of nights, when she couldn’t sleep. She had been imagining Illya’s body and his touch and how it would feel when he poured all his strength and stamina into her. It wasn’t as rough as she had expected but he was thorough and so much better when he wasn’t just a fantasy in her mind, but a living, warm and sweaty body against her, heavy breath on her bent-back neck.

Gaby wanted so much she couldn't control herself or her voice. She feared she was making a fool out of herself when her strong dancer’s body she had trained for years turned into soft malleable flesh in Illya’s hands.

Illya’s head ducked down and his back hunched. He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. Gaby’s fumbling hand wrapped around his neck and submerged in his sweaty neck hair.

He inhaled Gaby’s sweet, malty scent from her skin and tasted its saltiness. Illya slowed his movements when he feared he was too rough. He panted on her neck, kissed it wet. Instead sliding out he rubbed himself inside of her tight squeeze and Gaby moaned like a cat in heat.

Her lips found his and locked together. Illya tucked his hand under her waist, slid it between her and the mattress to set it between her shoulder blades.

Gaby’s chest heaved fast when the release was closing in her. She knew the pressuring need inside of her would ease. For the first time she could come with Illya inside her instead only in her mind.

Illya had to pull away from her kiss. It was too much if he wanted to hold himself from coming just a moments longer. Gaby’s hand flopped down powerlessly from his neck when he secured himself up onto his arms. Her hair was a scattered mess on the pillow, surrounding her head like a halo made of feathers. 

She made a sharp gasp when Illya adjusted his position, moved his knee on the mattress and thrusted in a slightly different angle. Her hand reached towards Illya, passing her own leg, and settled on his tense thigh muscle.

Gaby’s every gasp, trembling inhale, and body that arced from pleasure was better than anything Illya could imagine. The most beautiful thing in the world. Her sweaty skin and bangs stuck on her forehead, burning cheeks and lips that were swollen from her biting them and his kisses. Gaby looked raw and open, like all the secrets her heart had ever held were there, exposed, for him to see. There was no holding back or acting. Only Gaby in the most pure and real form she could be. She had dropped her guards down one by one when Illya had took her apart piece by piece.

He wanted to tell her that he might love her there and then, but he couldn’t get the words out when all he could do was keep himself from coming. 

The orgasm struck Gaby against the bed rougher than Illya did. It made her body convulse so hard it felt like too much. Illya didn’t stop his thrusts, but made her take more, and Gaby couldn’t do anything about it. Not that she really even wanted to.

Illya bit his bottom lip when he came. He was holding on to his voice for whatever reason, but eventually couldn’t stop himself.

Gaby pulsated around him and his lips parted when a low grunt forced its way out of him. He managed a few lazy and deep thrusts before he had to stop. His arms were trembling but he still kept himself up, forehead pressed onto Gaby’s collarbone. He stayed inside her warmth, panting, not wanting to part from the soft pulsing of her, her heaving breast and uneven breath.

Her hand moved. Slowly and powerlessly, but moved. She wrapped it behind his neck that she had found was a good place for it. She clenched her fingers around his hair and unapologetically pulled him in.

Illya shifted his weight onto his left hand, pulled out of her, straightened her leg on the bed. Gaby’s leg slipped on the bed next to it. Carefully Illya let his other arm bend too before he collapsed on top of her. Gaby’s leg still rested on top of his other thigh, binding them together like a weave in a basket. Illya turned his face against Gaby’s neck and relaxed against her damp skin. Her hand stayed in his hair and kept him close. Illya was maybe heavy on top of her, but her chest was free to move under the crook of his neck.

When her breathing settled Gaby tried to move her tongue in her mouth she had panted dry. Her hips were firmly under Illya and she couldn't move, but her hands were free. Lazily her fingers twirled his hair. 

When neither could see the other they both closed their eyes. Gaby was sure her legs might never carry her again. Illya, who struggled with relaxing, found it much easier to achieve against Gaby’s warmth.

The lighting grew dimmer as the wood started to burn out in the fireplace. The idea of getting up and moving himself away from Gaby’s arms felt bad and wrong. But the fireplace was the only source of heat and Illya didn’t want Gaby to get cold. Slowly he secured himself with his elbow. Gaby’s hand followed with him and she let it smooth his cheek.

Illya tilted his head and kissed her palm, rubbed his cheek on it like affectionate animal and made Gaby smile. He leaned in to press a slow kiss on her lips before pulling back and starting to get up. He tested to make sure his limbs were working like they should. Gaby’s leg collapsed on the bed when he pulled his thigh from under it. Illya kept looking at Gaby and was happy that in the dimly lit room she couldn't properly see how ridiculously chuffed he looked.

Gaby rolled on her side to watch Illya walk across the room, tossing more wood in the fireplace. She bent her arm under her head so she could see better. The flames bit into the dry wood hungrily and the lazy orange flames grew into a bright yellow blaze that illuminated the room and Illya.

“Can I have a glass of water?” Gaby asked and cleared her throat when the husky words barely came out of her dry mouth.

Illya filled a glass from the tap and walked back to the bed. He didn’t mind Gaby’s gaze on him. He was looking at her after all. And she looked soft and so content it was hard to believe she didn’t like what she was looking at.

Gaby gulped the water down like she had been thirsty for days. She wiped the droplets from her chin with the back of her hand.

Illya took the glass from her, set it on the bedside table, and climbed back next to her. He mirrored her position, rolled on his side, bent his arm under his head and looked at her. His other hand caressed her hip. Her skin was warm, like she had been standing right next to the fireplace.

There were a thousand things he wanted to say to her and yet he said none. It felt better only to look at Gaby. He could say the things he wanted later. 

Gaby noticed she didn’t feel embarrassed anymore. Maybe she could’ve controlled herself better, but then Illya deserved to see how he made her feel. He deserved to see her lust and the crumbling of her self-control. After all he was the one causing it. It felt strangely safe to like somebody enough to let the walls around you fall. And Illya looked pleased and Gaby was sure nothing she had done was something Illya would consider embarrassing.

Outside the blizzard shook the windows. Illya glanced at the storm raging in the dark over Gaby’s shoulder. Gaby kept looking at his face and only listened. Under his calm exterior Illya’s eyes were still alert like they always were, always observing. 

She wondered if the storm would calm tomorrow or if they would have to spend another night in the cabin. Her head was full of things they could do while waiting for the weather to clear.

“What?” Illya asked when his eyes shifted from the window to Gaby and he could see her little grin and dimples that were like a sign of mischievous ideas.

Gaby shrugged as much as she could while lying down. “Nothing,” she sighed. “Just thinking.”

Illya hummed and breathed deeply. His hand wrapped better over her waist, stroked the small of her back. The warm, dry air in the cabin had dried the sweat from her skin. “What about?” he asked quietly.

Gaby shrugged again. “How long the blizzard is going to last,” she muttered. “How long we are going to be stuck here. All the things we could do with our time,” she finally sighed and her sweet grin curled her lips, chapped from his kisses.

The corners of Illya’s mouth twitched and he had a contented look in his eyes. “What kinds of things were you thinking?” he asked softly. He kept fingering her skin and he could see Gaby was enjoying it.

“I guess we’ll see then,” Gaby teased, smiling.

Muscles in Illya’s arm tensed when he pulled Gaby against him. She set her head to rest on Illya’s bent arm, peeking under his head, like in the same pillow. Illya’s hand swiped her cheek and submerged into her messy hair, pulled her in a deep, soft kiss she could feel all through her body.

“Is that so?” Illya muttered, lips still brushing against Gaby’s.

Gaby hummed.

“Can hardly wait,” Illya muttered.

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to have to wait,” Gaby whispered, pleased, and shifted closer to kiss him again. As long as the blizzard was keeping them snowed in she was going to use her time wisely and find out how long Illya’s KGB-trained stamina would endure.


	5. April drabbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9 drabbles (all mistakes by me)

**“Teach me how to play?”**

No, she doesn’t want to play chess anymore. He takes it too seriously, it’s not fun.

“But we can play something else,” Gaby mutters, rummaging through the drawers. “I’m sure there is a pack of cards here somewhere.“ Finally she jiggles it on her hand. “Found one.”

“I don’t care for cards,” Illya remarks, shrugs his shoulders. “But you can play by yourself.”

Gaby’s jaw tightens for a moment, forehead frowns. She tosses the deck onto the table before sitting down. Her fingers poke the armrests, pinching the leather between them, annoyed, but her mouth is shut.

Illya moves the chess pieces. He can feel her disappointment over the table. He glances at her, quickly under his brows. “I don’t know any card games,” he admits, relieved that only she is there to hear it. “Teach me how to play?” he asks quietly after a while.

Gaby keeps staring at her fingers on the armrest, poking the leather, but her lips curl up when she can’t hide her pleased smile.

 

 

**“Come over here and make me.”**

“We need to go, you need to give that back,” Illya says, tries to get his cap she has put on her own head and refuses to return. She ducks and takes few perky steps away.

“It’s mine now,” Gaby claims, smiling, showing of her dimples like that is her way to get what she wants.

Usually it is.

But now Illya shakes his head. He steps closer, Gaby backs away. Her grin stays on her lips, her eyes are bright. Illya tries to grab something; arm, dress, anything. But Gaby somehow manages to stay too far for him to reach.

Illya stops. He can’t chase her around the room like some lovesick fool. “You need to stop,” he says when he can’t think of anything else to say.

Gaby’s cheeks are pink from excitement. “You want me to stop?” she asks, one brow arched high, grin curling her lips again.

“Yes,” Illya grunts.

“Well then,” Gaby sighs, she adjusts the cap better on her dark curls, “come over here and make me.” For a moment she looks almost serious, until those cheeky dimples appear on her face again.

Her feet are quick, but now he is quicker. He takes away her dress before the cap.

 

 

**“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”**

Gaby hates to admit that Illya looks good in his uniform. She hates it and how perfectly it fits him, compliments his serious exterior. She hates the uniform and for a moment she even hates Illya for looking so good in it.

“You can take it off now,” Gaby points out and turns her gaze away from it.

Illya takes the hat away, throws it on a chair.

Gaby imagines rye fields in Russia, just before harvest. The golden waves under the blue sky. Like his hair and eyes. She doesn’t want to mix that Illya to this uniform.

“Just take it off,” Gaby huffs, knowing perfectly well it’s just fabric and buttons. But she fears that the medals KGB has pinned on him somehow leach through the thick fabric, change him.

His hands open the belt so slowly Gaby huffs again, frustrated and anxious.

“You heard me. Take. It. Off,” she snaps and stares at him.

She can see his posture tensing up when she gives order. But his fingers still open the belt. Then the golden buttons, one by one. He sets the pieces on the chair, neatly like he always does, and Gaby doesn’t deny that from him. Not anymore when slowly he starts to look like her Illya again.

 

 

**“Please don’t do this.”**

“Gaby,” Illya pants the words out. “Please don’t do this.”

Gaby moves, adjusts her hips on him, makes him swallow and grit his teeth together. He doesn’t make a sound when his head bends back, he doesn’t want anybody to hear. His fists clench tightly and he jerks his arms, but is unable to move his hands. Her strong thighs dig into his sweaty sides. Every move she makes, however small, makes Illya’s muscles tense up all over again. He breathes through his mouth and looks at her, eyes full of desperation, sweating the sheets wet.

Gaby leans in to press a soft kiss on his lips. Slowly her tongue traces the inside of his upper lip. His whole body jerks when she bites his bottom lip, a grunt escapes from him. He squirms, but his wrists are still firmly attached to the bedpost.

Gaby hums, pleased. If Illya really wanted her to stop, he would use the safeword.

 

 

**“Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!”**

Gaby kicks the dirty snow with her boots. She squats down to gather a big handful, pats it to a white and grey ball, and straightens herself back up. “Can you hit Solo from here?” she asks.

Illya purses his mouth, estimating the situation. “Maybe not. He is too far.”

“If you do hit,” Gaby starts but then pauses, leans closer, her hand slips behind his neck, “I will…“

Her quiet words turn to whispers only Illya can hear in the dark alley. Her lips brush his ear and Illya glances at Cowboy. Her promises make his heart race.

Solo frowns when he can see what is happening. “Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!”

Gaby hums approvingly “I guess I’ll see you later in my hotel room.”

 

 

**"Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”**

Something is wrong, Gaby is sure. She grabs her gun before entering the apartment. Her arm relaxes at the bedroom door. Her hand and weapon rest against her thigh.

Illya glances at her gun. “You were alert, that is good.”

“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” she asks and sets her weapon on the bedside table.

“You called,” Illya reminds, folds the newspaper he was reading, tosses it on the duvet.

“Only to chat,” Gaby notes as she sits on the edge of the bed. “You were busy.”

Illya pulls her zipper slowly open. He hums against her skin and inhales her scent.

She closes her eyes when his first kiss sets on her neck, the second one under her ear. She tilts her head back for the third one and with the fourth he captures her lips and pulls her into the bed.

 

 

**“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”**

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice,” Gaby says.

She says the words like it’s not a big deal, like she doesn’t even mind if he is looking. That seems good, reassuring somehow. She looks at him, over her martini glass when she sips from it. The glass hits the table, her fingers stroke the thin leg of it. Her eyelashes are like butterfly wings when she gazes the glass and then him again. There is trace of pink lipstick on her glass and Illya wants her to swipe the rest of it on him. She doesn’t even need to seduce him, it’s enough that she sit there, opposite of him. It’s enough that he can see her. Her lips part when her tongue wets her plump lower lip.

“So are you going to do something about it?” Gaby asks.

 

 

**“It could be worse.”**

The bathroom floor is stained with blood. Gaby’s bare feet have left violently red prints all over it. They are slowly drying and turning brown. There is shards of glass scattered around, she needs somebody with shoes on to carry her out of the room later. She sits on the bar stool in the middle of the mess, shoulders slumped, head hanging low, dried tears on her cheeks. She doesn’t make a peep when Illya makes a new stitch. She hears Solo talking on the phone in the next room. She isn’t saying she’s fine and they don’t need extraction. It’s not her call anymore.

When Illya is done he sets the needle on the edge of the sink. Her blood has stained his hands too. It just looks bad on the white floor, he reminds himself. It looks more than it really is. She is alive, that is all that matters.

“It could be worse,” Gaby whispers like she knows what Illya is thinking.

Illya touches her hand when he can’t hug her because of all the stitches.

 

 

**“Wanna bet?”**

Gaby’s hand smooths Illya’s shoulder blade, slips over his side. She leans her cheek on his back and lets out a satisfied sigh. They should be getting up, but Gaby has pressed herself against him, warm, naked skin on his skin, and Illya doesn’t want to move. But minutes tick away and he can’t stay still when everything else is moving forward. Gently he nudges Gaby with his elbow.

She whines, curls up closer, and the corners of Illya’s mouth twitch.

“You cannot fight the morning,” Illya breathes out. He nudges her again and Gaby sounds like a displeased puppy. “You will lose.”

“Wanna bet?” she mutters, curls up closer yet, and buries her face between his shoulder blades.


	6. May drabbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My May drabbles. Not beta read so all the (many) mistakes are mine. I know it's just few drabbles, but at least I have accomplish something. And if I can write few drabbles I can finish all my wips too.

**While driving or in/around a car.**

 

She is driving. She always is. She is like a part of the Citroën. Hands on the steering wheel, foot on the accelerator. Illya has the map but his eyes, behind his shades, are looking at her. Gaby reaches towards the radio. She likes the song and wants more volume. Illya doesn’t mind.

“How’s the map looking?” Napoleon asks from the back seat.

“Fine,” Illya mutters, his gaze shifts behind his shades. He looks the map and glances outside. They are not where they should be. He doesn’t know where they are.

“Or are we already lost?” Napoleon smirks. “Can’t believe I have to remind you every time not to do that.”

They find the right road. Illya keeps his eyes on the map, on the road, on the mission. Gaby changes the gear. Illya’s gaze shifts. He gets lost again.

 

 

**Coming home.**

 

Gaby closes the door as quietly as she can. She sets the heavy bag on the floor, kicks her shoes off and hangs her jacket in the dark. There is a scent of laundry detergent in the air. The clock ticks on her left.

She squirms out of her jumper and drops it on the couch before opening her belt buckle. The dim streetlamp light lets her see enough to function, yet she still knocks her knee on the side table when she yanks away her sock. Her lips press tightly together and she suffocates the German curse coming out.

Quietly she sneaks into the bedroom, slips under the covers. She moves slowly and carefully, and adjusts herself against Illya’s back. She relaxes when her cheek rests on his warm skin.

“You are very loud when you try to be quiet,” Illya mutters in the dark, voice hoarse from the sleep.

“Not true,” Gaby whispers, wraps her arm over him and tucks it under Illya’s arm.

“Sounded like there was a bear in the apartment,” Illya claims quietly.

Gaby huffs even when she wants to chuckle. “Well now you have a bear in your bed,” she murmurs against his skin. “In Russia they say it brings you luck.”

“No they don’t,” Illya mutters, smile in his voice.

 

 

**An abandoned or empty place.**

 

The blunt blow strikes on his already aching side and Illya is too tired to fight back anymore. Too many hits from too many people. Now the hits only come from one man, but it’s all too much. The sharp kick knocks the feet from under him, and he collapses on the dusty concrete floor. Illya hits his head, temple scrapes on the coarse floor, his blood stains it. The next kick hits his torso, makes him slump onto his broken ribs. Every panting breath of the dusty air is like inhaling fire. He can taste the blood and his tongue can feel the split lip. Vision blurs when he still tries to get up. A new kick makes his body scream in panic when the pain rushes through his bruised flesh. The pain is sharp, cuts him, feels more like knives than kicks.

The sound of the gunshot is relieving. Soon it’ll be over and the pain will stop. Illya lets himself slump back to the dust and dirt and rocks on the floor. He can’t see the man anymore but he can hear footsteps. His eyes try to focus when someone comes closer. He only recognizes Gaby when he already moves his sore arm to cover himself. Her small hands touch him, softly guides his arm back down, when there is no reason to cover from her.

The pale light from the windows of the abandoned warehouse building makes the dust in the air glow around Gaby, and for a moment she looks like an angel who is there to collect him. Her voice trembles when she asks is he okay, when she tells that help is coming and he is going to be fine. It takes a moment for Illya to realize that Gaby’s bullet hit the other man instead of him. Her hand wipes blood from his chin and it's so soft when everything surrounding him is hard.

 

 

**An obscure AU.**

 

Every night he is there. Like an old friend. Gaby sees glimpses from his life. Mundane things, grocery shopping, cleaning. Lonely nights and dinners for one. She woke up crying when his mother died. She learned Russia just to understand what he says when he mutters to himself. Sometimes he does things that makes her blush. Sometimes Gaby thinks about those times when she is alone, hands smoothing over her skin. She wonders can he see her too and does he sometimes see things that made him blush.

A stranger in her dreams. A stranger with blue eyes and long eyelashes, and always so neatly combed hair. Gaby can’t remember did she ever saw how he got his scar. If she did it was years ago and she has forgotten. She isn’t even sure why she sees him every night.

She picks up a loaf of bread from the bakery and ponders will the stranger see that. She stops outside of the flower shop. There is a big bucket full of cornflowers. She buys a bundle just because they remind her of his eyes. Post office, pharmacy, she needs to buy milk. Gaby glaces quickly both ways before crossing the road. She turns to the next street and stops so suddenly she almost drops the bread bag from under her arm.

The stranger is there, looking taller then Gaby really expected. He sees her and the expression on his face tells immediately that it’s not the first time he sees her.

 

 

**A stolen kiss.**

 

Methodically Illya puts his surveillance equipment back in the case. In his peripheral vision he can see Gaby walking around. The thick carpet muffles her already light, barefooted footsteps.

“You have everything ready for tomorrow?” he asks, unnecessary. Of course she has.

Gaby answers to him in Russia. Maybe she thinks it makes her somehow more professional when she is wearing her pajama, drink in her hand. She gulps it down and turns off the radio. She discards her empty glass, but keeps walking around, still humming the song that was just playing. 

Illya concentrates to his equipments, rolls the cords neatly so they don’t tangle with each other.

“We are star -” Gaby’s sudden kiss cuts his sentence short. It’s quick, over before Illya kisses her back.

“At eight,” Gaby continues. “I know.” She goes back to her pacing, acting like nothing happened.

Carefully Illya’s tongue traces his bottom lip when he closes the case. He imagines that he can still taste her kiss.

 

 

**Broken glass.**

 

The room is a mess. Furnitures tipped over, some broken to pieces. Water and trampled lilies on the floor. Everything is covered with broken glass that Gaby expects to be the missing vase. The last sunbeams penetrate through the drapes and make the glass sparkle. It squeaks under her shoes when she walks around.

Illya sits on the floor, leaning against the wall with his long legs bent, picking his nails. Gaby pushes few shard away before kneeling down. She knows what goes on in his mind. She knows he blames himself.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Gaby says, knowing very well that it doesn't mean anything. There is very little she can say or do to make him feel better. She knows, she’s been there.

Illya doesn't look at her, he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want her comfort. Somebody is dead and it's his fault. No kindness from Gaby is going to change that.

“Solo is finishing things with Waverly. We are leaving soon.”

Illya doesn’t reply. Gaby moves her hand, brushes broken glass from his hair and stays with him.

 

 

**Tears.**

 

She is strong. Illya likes that. Illya would like her either way, but she likes to be strong for him.

So she sheds her tears alone. When things are too much and she can’t control it anymore. When everything is too hard, when something was too close, when it makes her shatter into million pieces. She finds herself some space, curls up to herself and lets down the tears, doesn’t let anybody see. She is strong and she likes to keep everybody thinking that.

When Illya isn’t back when he should she stays strong. She stays strong for days and for weeks and that is all everybody see. She cries alone and shatters into pieces in solitude. She lies on her bed, listens the clock ticking on like nothing has changed. Her tears seep into the pillow.

Illya comes back, bruised and battered, but alive. She wants to stay strong for him, like she is, like he likes. But he is the first person in years to see her tears. Illya’s hand on her shoulder is big and warm and reassuring, just like he is. He strokes her back while Gaby soaks his collar, his Russian whispers in her ears.

 

 

**Sharing a drink.**

 

Illya listens Gaby with the mark all evening. There is a bug in her necklace. He listens her saying goodnight, the door closing. She sighs and the muted clanks sound like  she is kicking her high heels on the soft carpet.

“Have a drink with me,” Gaby says. Bottle clinks against her glass. She sounds tired.

It takes few seconds to realize she is talking to him. She wants to have drinks with him.

“He is boring,” Gaby breathes out. “This is boring.”

Illya can’t answer back even when he wants to. He doesn’t have a drink either.

She makes frustrated whine, fabric rustles, another whine. The corners of Illya’s mouth twitch when he imagines her struggling with her dress. Finally he hears the zipper.

“When this is over we should have drinks together. For real,” she says and ice clinks in her glass. “Right?”

Illya hums, even nods, despite that Gaby can’t see him.

“A drink,” Gaby decides. “Maybe few. And dinner. You need to feed me too.”

Illya likes this idea. A dinner with Gaby, just the two of them. He could take her someplace nice. Someplace quiet and private.

Gaby sighs, her glass hits the table. Illya imagines her, wonders what colour her underwear is. He can hear her dropping her heavy earrings on the coffee table.

“Maybe you will tuck me in bed,” she continues lazily, voice thick and smooth like molasses. “Maybe you will spend the night. Would you like that?” There is smile in her voice.

Gaby can’t hear his “yes”, but he is sure she knows his answer anyway. 


	7. June drabbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> again, all mistakes by me, you are welcome! one day I will again write something decent and it will be better than this and also beta read!

**I was just thinking about you**

 

Cowboy adjusts the radio transmitter, so far he gets nothing but static noise. Illya leans against the table, turns to look at Gaby on the edge of the couch. She is quiet and looks tired. She has dark circles under her eyes and hands wrapped on her arms to warm her in the chilly apartment. Her brown eyes stare somewhere in the distant, not seeing anything around her.

“Are you cold?” Illya asks. He tries to make is sounds like a side note, something to ask out of politeness, not because he cares. When Gaby doesn’t answer to him, he clears his throat. “Gaby?”

She winces, looks startled when she turns to look at him. “What?” she exhales. “I was just thinking about you.”

Illya’s words get stuck on his throat. He was going to say something, but his thought gets lost in Gaby’s words.

“The mission,” Gaby quickly corrects. Her expression tightens when she gets up. “I was just thinking about the mission,” she assures, looks annoyed when she walks to Cowboy, and lefts Illya alone.

He doesn’t look after her. He might smile if he would. Illya wonders does Gaby think about him as much as he thinks about her.

And Cowboy thinks that he is getting soft.

 

 

**Did you get my letter?**

Across the table Gaby’s eyes move behind her false lashes when she reads. Illya glares at the agent in grey suit. The man takes his time but finally leaves. Now there is only the secretary on the other side of the room. But she is too far to hear and surrounded by the sharps sounds of her typewriter.

Still Illya leans closer to Gaby before speaking. “Did you get my letter?” he mutters.

Gaby hums to herself, reads rest of the paragraph before lifting her face up. “Did you send me a letter?” she asks, interested, her brow twitches up. “Was it a love letter?” she teases.

Illya huffs slightly, glances at the secretary. “It was a regular letter.” The typewriter chimes like it’s emphasising his claim.

“What did it said?” Gaby wants to know. She leans closer. “Did you write about how lovely I am?” she whispers, corners of her mouth curling up. “Was it about how everything is nicer with me? And how you were missing me and my soft skin and warm touch and -”

“So you did get it,” Illya interrupts before Gaby repeats everything. He frowns at her teasing, and returns to read the dossier in front of him. 

“Yes, I got your love letter,” Gaby says, barely holding her smile. She glances at the secretary across the room. “I didn’t like the obscene parts,” she mutters.

“There was no obscene parts,” Illya assures, looks back up at her.

“I know,” Gaby sighs. She shrugs and tilts her head. “I didn’t like that.” The typewriter chimes again when her cheeky dimples appear, and she turns her twinkling eyes back to the dossier.

 

 

**You don’t have to say anything**

It was an ugly vase and the flowers were already withering away. But shrapnels on the floor and the wet spot on the wall paper isn’t what either one of them expected from the night. The crash stops both of them on their spots.

Illya grits his teeth, clenches his fists so hard his fingers feel like breaking. He takes a step back. Maybe it’s supposed to be a sign for Gaby that he is not a threat. But right now Illya doesn't know is he. He doesn’t want to be, but he struggles to keep himself calm and controlled.

Gaby lifts her chin up, looks straight at him, and Illya can’t say what she is thinking about. He wants her to be determinant, but it could be anger.

His rapid breathing starts to calm down. The burn in his chest choking him starts to ease. He lets his hands relax, his fingers are aching. Slowly he swallows, furiously trying to think something to say, something to do. It has never gone this far with Gaby. These are the first shrapnels between them. Illya opens his mouth even when he still doesn't have the words he is going to let out.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Gaby decides. Her hand waves, she looks away.

Illya’s lips press together. Her wave could be a sign that there is no reasons to worry. But it could also be that she just doesn’t care anymore. And the thought of Gaby not caring burns in his chest more painfully than anything.

She moves towards the kitchen, stops at the door while Illya holds his breath. “Are you okay?”

Illya doesn’t have an answer for her, but at least he can breath again when she still cares.

 

 

**Stay over**

Gaby’s skin is soft, her embraces even softer, and it's hard to get up from under the covers, from her warmth. The floor is cold under his feet when he reaches to grab his underwear.

“Stay over,” Gaby asks softly.

“I can’t,” Illya says. “No sleeping over. Your rule.”

Gaby hums. “Stay,” she asks again. “Let’s forget about that rule.”

Illya lets the fabric fell back on the floor but stays on the edge of the bed. “If you are going to forget about that rule are you going to forget all the others too?” He twist his head to see her over his shoulder.

Gaby crawls up, the rumpled sheet under her knees, pressing herself against Illya’s back. Her arms wrap around him; one around his shoulder, the other under his arm, smoothing it’s way across his abdomen. She buries her face on his neck, inhales his scent, bites his earlobe gently. She squeezes Illya closer, purring like a happy cat.

“Yes. Let’s forget all the rules,” she promises, muttering the words against his skin, lips pressing warm kisses on him. “Stay,” she purrs.

“Those are your rules,” Illya reminds, letting her pull him back to the bed, eager to explore the opportunity to stay a bit longer with her. “Tomorrow you are going to reinstate those.” He can barely get the words out from between her kisses.

“Then enjoy this while it lasts,” Gaby mutters, pulling him under the covers with her, back to her warmth, under her deep kisses and caresses, enjoying when there is no rules. At least tonight.

 

 

**The key is under the mat**

Her finger twirls the telephone cord, elbow leaning on the edge of her desk. She is wearing powder blue with white shoes and simple pearl earrings, looking like somebody else, pretending to be somebody else. Her eyes locked back to the mark as soon as he returns to the office.

“I should go,” Gaby mutters, absentmindedly, twirling the cord like she is talking to her boyfriend during her lunch break. In a way she is. “See you later.”

“What time?” Illya asks before Gaby lets the cord unravel around her finger.

“I don’t know. Just go in. The key is under the mat.”

“Why would you keep your key under the mat?” Illya demands. She can hear the frown from his voice. “That is unsafe.”

Gaby’s eyes and mind are locked onto the mark, Illya on the other end out line has turned into a noise, blended into the background.

Illya shakes his head. “Do not put it there again.”

“It’s just a key,” Gaby sighs, eyes following the mark. “I really need to go.”

“It’s not safe,” Illya points out one last time.

“Then keep the key.” Her voice is mere exhale, already drifting away when her attention isn’t on Illya anymore.

She is gone, the line is mute, and Illya sets the phone down. He isn’t sure did Gaby meant meant her words. Nonetheless the words has been said and it’s his key now.

 

 

**Can I kiss you?**

Her steps are shaky, but she insists walking by herself. She is full of expensive alcohol and stubbornness. Her handbag hangs on her hand, almost brushing the sidewalk. The November night is cold but her jacket is open and she refuses to close it.

Illya grabs her handbag when it scrapes against the pavement. There is no reason to let the expensive leather suffer from her carelessness. She glares at him, but doesn’t fight back. She needs to concentrate moving her feet.

The stairs finally drain the rest of her strength. Gaby slumps against the wall, huffs out of frustration. She reaches her hand towards Illya standing few steps higher than her. “Carry me.”

Illya takes her hand and pulls her forward. There is only four steps before the door, no reason to carry her. He helps her with her shoes, and finally scoops her up when she looks like she isn’t going to reach the bedroom without his help.

Her hand grabs his collar when he lays her on the bed. She is stronger than she looks, yanks Illya out of balance. He almost collapses on top of her.

Gaby’s eyes can’t focus on him. Her palm finds it’s way on his cheek, but she fumbles, like she isn’t sure where his cheek is. She squints to see him through the intoxication.

“Can I kiss you?” Gaby sighs, eyes half closed, barely awake.

Illya hopes she is going to ask again. Now he gently shakes his head to the drunk mechanic. “Some other time. Go to sleep.”

Gaby closes her eyes, her huff is powerless and her hand slips from Illya’s cheek.

 

 

**I don’t mind**

Napoleon sighs, deeply, like he’s more than disappointed. He gazes down, shakes his head. “You make it sometimes so hard to work with you.”

Illya’s jaw clenches when his words echo in his head. He scowls Cowboy under his brows, tries to stare him down, just to get to him to leave. But when he does, Illya’s success doesn't feel that great.

It’s not the first time somebody isn’t getting along with him. He has gotten used to that. Deep down he knows that he is right. And even deeper down he knows that sometimes it doesn't matter if he is right, as long as the result is good, but he rarely gets that deep.

As long as Illya can remember, he has made his own decisions for his survival. The memories from the times somebody else made the decisions for him are pale and thin, like stretched fabric. Ghosts from the times things were good, bittersweet memories, nothing more.

For years Illya has fight to keep himself what he is now, staying human, being the man his mother would be proud. 

And as much as Illya wants to rely only to himself, there is still others. Solo, who has his glaring mistakes and deficiencies, is still somebody Illya needs to be there. He, and Gaby with her opinions, were  necessary , reminding him that he couldn't survive alone, he didn’t have to.

And yet his brains demands him to keep his own mind, holding on to his own rigid opinions, not considering any alternative.

Illya slumps down to the hard armchair **.** He knows Gaby is still in the room. He can hear her footsteps, feel her thoughts, the blood rushing in her veins. Illya wants to say he is too much, he knows he is; too much, too rigid, too hard. But it isn't something he can let go that easily. He is hard to get along with, and he knows that. 

“I don’t mind,” Gaby promises, like she is reading his disoriented mind, before ducking down, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek, sweet and wet. She follows Cowboy, who has disappeared only moments before.

Illya can’t say would his mother be proud of him. But maybe Gaby is, and even Cowboy, deep down, and that seems more than enough.

 

 

**I’ll pick you up at the airport**

He examines the wound just above the hip bone, leaning against the bathroom sink. The stitches are fresh, made by a nurse. He peeks under the bandage, phone jammed between his shoulder and cheek. Gaby waits his answer fifteen hundred miles away. “It is small, neat,” he lies.

Gaby huffs, her own phone jammed like Illya’s, the curly cord stretching from the other room. The fluffy rug tickles her bare thighs when she paints the last toenail. “Will it leave a scar?” she wants to know.

“No,” Illya lies again. He sets the bandage back and covers it up.

“You deserve a scar. It was stupid to go by yourself,” she mutters. Her knees bend when she leans forward to blow on her nails. “Stupid and irresponsible,” she carries on. She has the right to say so, she hasn't done anything irresponsible all day.

Illya wants to argue, but the stitches remind that Gaby is right.

“You back tomorrow?” Gaby asks. “I’ll pick you up at the airport,” she promises as soon as Illya has given her a short hum. She forgets about her toes and grabs the phone. “I want to see myself how small and neat that cut really is.”

It hurts when Illya frowns to his mirror image. He wonders will Gaby be more upset about the real size of the wound or the black eye, already swollen shut, he hasn’t even mentioned yet.

 

 

**It brings out your eyes**

Illya’s long fingers are moving on the last of the open buttons of his crisp white shirt. Gaby wishes she would’ve come in a minute sooner, before he had his shirt on. Her gun is on the table, that’s why she is there, but her attention drifts to the two neckties hanging on the back of a chair. Gaby grabs the one she likes best.

“This is better,” she states.

Illya’s movements stop when she steps closer and starts to wrap the tie around his neck. He moves slowly slightly back, sits on the edge of the vanity so she can reach better.

The blue and grey silk swishes on her fingers when she ties the knot slowly. Briefly she glances up, Illya’s blue eyes are looking at her. “It brings out your eyes,” she says before returning to stare the knot. She feels silly. She should be concentrating solely to the mission, and yet here she is, acting like a girl, letting Illya grab her attention and make her imagination run wild.

“There,” Gaby exhales when she is done. She gazes back up, gets lost in his eyes for a few more moments, before pulling herself free, and stepping away.

Illya makes a tiny nod, eyes still locked on her. She grabs the gun she came in for, and leaves. Illya turns to the mirror. He smiles at her effort but pulls the knot open and ties it again. It would've been more efficient to make it by himself for beginning with, but that way he would’ve missed her closeness and the scent of her perfume that makes Illya hope he could drink the smell of her skin.

 

 

**Pull over. Let me drive for awhile**

Gaby has been driving for hours. She’s already said she doesn’t mind, she likes it. Illya believes that, but he also believes she could use some rest. Cowboy has knocked himself unconscious with painkillers and whisky. At least he isn’t complaining about his broken leg. Outside of the car there is nothing but darkness.

“Pull over. Let me drive for awhile,” Illya suggests.

Gaby glances at him, her mouth already opens to say “no”. But she changes her mind. Her eyes are aching and the thought of closing them for a while sounds more than good. She wants to lift her legs on the seat, curl up, rest her forehead against the cold window. She lets the car stop.

The night air is cold, it nips her cheeks and the tip of her nose. She wraps her coat better around her.

They meet in front of the car, harsh headlights casting sharp shadows on them. Gaby closes her eyes when Illya pulls her closer by the small of her back. His kiss on her temple is warm.

“Thank you,” Gaby mutters as she inhales the scent of his jacket.

“Get some sleep,” Illya murmurs into her hair, before pushing her gently back moving.

Gaby curls up on the seat and lets him drive for awhile.

 

 

**Call me if you need anything**

“You should be resting.” Panting has dried her mouth, her voice is thick, skin damp from sweat. 

Illya kisses her neck wet from behind, he makes everything wet. “I am not tired,” he mumbles, hand smoothing her skin under her shirt.

“You are injured,” Gaby whines. She needs to grab the edge ot the table when her knees feel weak.

Illya hums against the nape of her neck. His hand slips under her skirt, fingers curl under her underpants, pulling them down. She gasps when he grabs her hips with both hands. “Not that injured.”

His voice rumbles on Gaby’s stomach, between her thighs. Sound of his belt buckle opening makes her squeeze the edge of the table from anticipation, lick her bottom lip wet.

“You said call me if you need anything,” Illya murmurs between his kisses, pushing her shirt down from her shoulders. “I did.”

“You don’t need anything,” Gaby sighs. Her arm reaches back, grabbing the back of his head, fingers clenching his hair.

Illya grunts, leaves marks with his kisses. He moves her like he wants and she eagerly lets him. “I need you,” he assures and proves to her just how hard he does.

 

 

**What do you want to watch?**

 

Sometimes Illya still doubts is it all true. He doesn't believe in fate. He believes all that he has is because he has worked for it. But this makes him doubt. Gaby. His life with her. There is no way he has ever worked enough to get this. Still he has a life he didn’t ever dreamed because the mere thought of something that easy and normal was absurd. Illya wasn’t going to just meet a nice girl who wanted to be with him, he wasn’t going to have anybody to share his bed.

Gaby appears from the kitchen, hands the burning hot teacup to Illya who has to set it down. She manages just to set her own cup on the coffee table, before hissing and shaking her burning fingers. Carelessly she collapses on the sofa, lifts her feet up, sets one on Illya’s thigh. She grabs the newspaper next to her steaming tea.

“What do you want to watch?” she asks, eyes gazing the television programs. She purses her lips, her bare feet moves on a pace of something she hums quietly.

Illya rubs the bottom of her feet with his thumb. She twitches when it tickles. It’s so normal Illya isn’t sure is it really his life. Most of the time it’s hard to believe. Maybe he is dreaming it all. He pinches Gaby’s toe.

“It’s real,” Gaby mutters without looking up, tiny grin curling her lips. “Pinch me again and I’ll make you wish you really are just dreaming.”


	8. July drabbles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These monthly drabbles happen in tumblr the last weekend of the month. I post the new prompt list usually on Saturday and write the drabbles until Monday. So if you want to send prompts you can do that on my [tumblr](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/).  
> Right now my inbox is closed from anons but I'm gonna open it when I'm posting the new prompt list (August 26th) so if you choose you can send prompts as anon. Please don't send shitty things, that's why it's closed from anons right now.

**Dawn**

 

Her hand swipes the curtain aside. There’s a soft, peachy mist behind the brick buildings. Everything is still quiet and calm, before the world turns back on. Gaby wraps the thin dressing gown tighter around her. The floor board are cold and her skin is covered with goosebumps. It was warm and cozy under the covers, and now the air feels chilly.

There is moistness on the bottom of the window. She touches the glass with the tip of her finger. Cold and wet, like the drink on her hand last night. She writes her name on the glass like a child. The g looks like a lazy spiral.

Her finger stops, she bites her lower lip, carefully glancing the bed behind her. The sun paints Illya’s back soft and orange. He’s still asleep.

Gaby turns back towards the peach mist, squints her eyes at the rising sun. She writes Illya’s name next to her own and then quickly wipes it all away with her palm. Illya doesn’t have too see her acting like a silly schoolgirl, even if the dawn sees it.

 

 

**Devotion, imagination, whiskey**

The mission needs Illya to focus. There is a million things he needs to concentrate. And yet his mind wanders, imagination runs wild. Parts of Illya wants to blame Gaby. It's her fault he can’t concentrate. It’s her his head is full of.

Gritting his teeth and clenching his fists Illya decides he doesn’t really even like her, so there is no need to be thinking about her.

There is a lot of her that is easy to dislike. She is so stubborn and strong, shows her devoting by annoyingly soft little touches. And she isn’t even that pretty. There is next to no shape in her, just a wisp of a thing, easy to carry to bed. Her bangs make her cheeks look chubby, like little apples. Her eyes are stupid; big, sharp things, coloured like expensive whiskey. And little pouting lips. She looks like a china doll, built to look like she is waiting to be kissed all the time.

Illya huffs out of frustration, he gets nothing done with her inside of his head. She is so ugly he can’t concentrate.

 

 

**Shatter, flame, hands**

The fire build up quickly. It lick the ceiling before anybody noticed it. And by then it was too late. There was no getting out. The smoke was thick and black when the foam rubber from the cheap couch burned. It was an inferno even before the gas stove exploded. Windows shattered, flames bursting out. It was quick and violent, nothing survived but cutlery and bones. It took time before they could safely identify the bodies. 

Even before that Gaby always wondered were they really alive anymore. There was so much weighing them down. She felt like she was already dead. She ate, slept when she could, loved Illya, but there was emptiness in her. Something had hollowed her out a long time ago. Illya had probably died not long after his mother. So the fire destroyed the apartment but they were really already dead before that.

It was caused by a faulty electric wire. Their names were written in death certificates. It felt weird, especially when it wasn't their bones.

It took time before Gaby’s hollow inside started to fill up again. She didn’t feel like a dead girl anymore. Officially she was just that. But it wasn't so bad being dead, not when Illya’s hands hugged her from behind, when he nuzzled her neck and kissed her. With time he would stop feeling dead too. 

 

 

**Photograph, youth** (1/2)

The place looks like a cheap hotel room, not somebody's home. Though Gaby isn’t sure is it his home. She isn’t going to ask does he really even have a home. There is a chance he will say no and that would break her heart. So she doesn’t ask, just lets him make the tea in the kitchen nook.

She glances the books on his shelves, pulls out the ones with spines too worn-out to read the titles. The last one isn’t a book. She know it’s a photo album even before opening it. She hesitates but opens it without permission.

There isn’t many pictures, but the few there still make her lips curl up. Serious boy, skinny and tall. More from his childhood than his youth. Then only empty pages, black matte surfaces without memories.

She immediately closes the album when Illya comes, hands it over before he can ask for it. “Sorry,” she says.

But he doesn’t demand it back. “It’s fine,” he promises, sitting on the couch, setting the cups down. “There isn’t that many photographs.”

With that Gaby sits next to him and opens the album, turns it over so he can see and taps a picture. “In that case I need to know did you want that haircut or were you forced into it?” She is sure the corners of his lips curl up even when he sighs and shakes his head.

 

 

**Home** (2/2)

When Gaby is there, it’s home. So it feels. She makes the muted tones turn into bright colours. The curtains are yellow, the carpet so blue it feels like walking on a ocean. The worn-out books on the shelves look like jewels and the wallpaper blooms big flowers.

But Illya’s time is running low. Soon she has looked everything the small place has to offer. She has forgotten about her tea while flipping through his photo album, teasing him. She says she is looking, but her delicate fingers are touching everything. When she sits again next to him Illya pushes the teacup closer so it doesn’t get cold before she remembers to drink it.

Illya enjoys the feeling of home she brings. It's in every hotel room they share, in very safe house. There isn’t a place she can’t paint with bright colours when she is there with him. Gaby is his home, not any apartment. 

When she gets up from the couch, the carpet start to loose it’s shade. The flowers wither on the walls. Her tea is finished, it’s late, there is no reason for her to stay. It stops being home when she pulls her jacket on.

Just before she steps out he moves, grabs the sleeve of her jacket, pulls her back in. When he kisses her there is flowers on the walls again. They bloom out of the sockets and faucets, straight out of his heart, too. 

 

 

**Ring, life, box**

“I have something for you,” Illya says from the kitchen door.

Gaby sighs at the sight of the content of the refrigerator. “Is it milk?” she asks. “I really hope it’s milk.”

“Not milk,” Illya says.

Gaby nudges the fridge door shut with her hips and crosses her arms. She looks at Illya like she is challenging him, eyebrows high. “I will take eggs too,” she says. “Or bread. Anything really. Was it your turn to get the groceries?”

“Your turn,” Illya assures.

“Well whoever it was supposed to be didn’t do very good job,” Gaby sighs like she had nothing to do with it.

“Still you,” Illya mutters, amused when she is trying to to wiggle her way out of it.

Gaby pushes herself away from the fridge, lazily walking to Illya, arms still crossed, tilting her chin up to held his gaze when she gets closer. “So what is it?” she asks. She lets her arms drop, shrugs and sets them on her hips. “If it’s some body part I don't have time for that, I’m afraid.” She grabs Illya’s wrist, twists it so she can see the time from his watch. “The shop is closing soon and if you don’t want to eat mustard on mustard, I need to go.”

Her tiny sarcastic grin dies when Illya hands her a small brown box, made of sturdy cardboard. It sits on his palm, looking important. Gaby swallows slowly, staring the thing. Suddenly her heart races in her chest. There can be only one thing in that box and she isn’t ready for anything that big. She is perfectly happy the way things are now. She is happy with bickering about whose turn it was to buy the groceries, she is happy that they are not really even living together. But ring will turn this to serious. She can’t marry him and say she will spend the rest of her life with him. Not yet at least.

“Are you going to take it?” Illya asks when Gaby keeps staring at the box.

She turns her gaze to Illya, her eyes wide, stares at him without blinking, lower lip slowly pulling under the top one. “Yes,” she finally says, eyes dropping back to the box. She grabs it, yanks it quickly open like ripping a plaster off, and looks the little piece of shiny metal.

“It’s for the bathroom faucet,” Illya points out. “You didn’t have the right part for fixing it.”

She is relieved. But when she turns back to look at him she realizes she is also disappointed and angry. How dare he not to propose to her, they are practically living together? “Thank you,” she manages to force out.

Illya estimates the expression on her face. She still looks like she is going to ran away but not like she is going to throw up like she still did last month. He isn’t going to give her the actual ring until the idea of it at least makes her look like she could accept it, if the mood is right, the planets in line, and there is milk in the fridge.

 

 

**Hands**

Gaby closes her eyes, leans back towards his chest. It’s warm and his hands are calmingly cool, like always, before her skin warms them up. Slowly he smooths his hands up on her thighs, his breath on her neck makes chills run down her spine.

She lets her head bent back until it rests on his shoulder. When she tilts it she reaches to kiss his neck.

His hands travel up. Gaby feels the coarse texture on her skin. She lets out a pleased sigh when his hands move over her belly, rising still higher. She inhales his scent, and adjusts herself better between his legs. She can hear Illya’s quiet hum, he is probably smiling at her. 

Illya is slow, almost lazy, there’s no rush for a change. Tomorrow can be a whole other thing so she enjoys the tenderness now.

She bites her lower lip, fingers burrowing into his thighs, his muscles tensing up under her touch. His hands are warm now, moving still up, cupping her breasts. Her exhale trembles.

 

 

**Storm, disease, trapped**

Illya’s weight pulls Gaby down with him. His knee hits the floor. Gaby grunts, trying to keep him up. He is sure she hurts herself when he practically collapses on top of her. His vision is so blurred he can hardly see.

“We need to keep moving,” Gaby says sternly, getting back on her feet, trying to pull Illya up. She staggers when the storm rocks the ship, grabbing the railing bolted on the wall. When she has balance she grabs Illya instead, trying to pull him up. “Work with me!”

Illya’s body doesn’t feel like his. It’s something else that is controlling it. He isn’t sure what they gave him, but it feels like a disease. It aches inside of him, his mouth is dry, swallowing impossible. All his muscles are sore, pulse thump in his chest, faster and faster.

Trapped and tired Gaby lets go of him, collapsing onto her knees. Her fingers squeeze his collar, other hand cups his face. “Illya,” she breathes out his name. “Please, you need to get up. I can’t leave you here.” The last words made her voice crack and she takes a sharp inhale to control herself.

It hurts. Not like any injury he can’t suffer through with just pure stubbornness. It hurts so that Illya wants to cry. He want’s to give up. And he would if it was just him. But Gaby has pulled herself up and her hands are clenching onto his numb arm again.

He has no choice but to get himself back up, he can’t leave her there alone.

 

 

**Crimson, shadows, home**

“Do you need to leave already?” Gaby asks, quietly and unsure.

“Soon,” Illya admits. “I don’t know when -”

“Let’s not talk about it,” Gaby stops him. She snuggles closer, rests against him. The maple outside of her window is red, almost crimson when it’s getting dark. Maybe there is already snow in Russia. She rubs her cheek onto his collar bones.

“Is it for long?” she asks, despite just saying she didn’t want to talk.

“I don’t know,” Illya murmurs. He strokes her bare back, hand moving onto her neck, fingers disappearing into her hair.

Gaby tilts her head up. “Come back, okay?” Come back home is what she wants to say.

Illya hums, pulls his hand from her mussed hair, touches her cheek and chin, slides his thumb along her lips. The light on the nightstand casts shadows on Gaby’s walls. “I always do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again all the mistakes are mine

**Author's Note:**

> beta thanks to [MollokoPlus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MollokoPlus/pseuds/MollokoPlus)


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